


Knight Errant

by Shamus_Aran



Category: Shovel Knight
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21899680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamus_Aran/pseuds/Shamus_Aran
Summary: A year of toiling at Pridemoor's feet has taught King Knight precisely nothing. With his opulence stripped from him and hardly a friend in the world, King Knight must accept that he will never rule his homeland. But there are places where the name of King Knight is not cursed as a betrayer. Places where, perhaps, he may start over. Thus begins a journey to claim a new crown -- and perhaps, one day, get revenge on the man that stole the love of his mother, and the knight that knocked him off his throne.
Comments: 39
Kudos: 85





	1. Dear Diary

_Day 1_

Dear Diary:

Ruination! The blasted blue blunder has bested me in my own _[Note to self: write something here that means “throne room” and starts with a B]_!

I am undone. Humiliated! Debased! Disgraced! My hash has been thoroughly settled! Should word of this get out, I shall never be able to show my face in the kingdom again!

Thankfully, this is _my_ kingdom, and no one else is allowed within my throne room whilst I deal with troublemakers. As I lounge on my throne, nursing a bruised ego and sprained ankle, I highly doubt my mortifying defeat shall become known to the public at large. 

_Day 6_

Dear Diary:  
  
My mortifying defeat has become known to the public at large.

Over the previous week, not only was I assaulted in my own castle, but my minions, my comrades in the Order, myself _again_ , my comrades in the Order _again_ , and my employer were all thoroughly trounced by the selfsame ruffian! Now there’s talk of “freedom,” and “revolution,” and other such tripe. I’ve even heard of... _that oaf_ showing his face again. I’ll have none of it!

I’m going to hold court tomorrow and lay down the law. Enchantress or not, I’m still king, and these peasants shall bow to me!

_Day 9_

Dear Diary:  
  
I have done nothing but scrub floors for three days.

_Day 16_

Dear Diary:

I guess this is my life now.

 _The oaf_ is king again, and he is still inappropriately courting my mother. For the _crime_ of installing Pridemoor Keep’s rightful king (me) and having it furnished as befits a proper king’s domain (I had everything painted gold), I am now forced to kneel at the man’s feet and scrub away my beautiful golden coating, all the while listening to him blather on about kingliness and leadership and how he intends to canoodle with my mom. 

He even took my _crown!_

The disgrace. The absolute indignity of it all. This is torment. Torture! It’s inhumane!

At some point he will surely declare my lesson learnt and perhaps things might go back to normal. Perhaps then, Mother will speak to me again.

Surely he does not truly intend for me to scrub the gold off his entire castle.

_Day 32_

Dear Diary:

King Pridemoor truly intends for me to scrub the gold off his entire castle.

“Tacky,” everyone calls it. Pah! Just proves that the peasantry has no taste. Everything looks better with gold on it! Everything! It’s proven by science. I think. Now I have to uglify the entire edifice, day-in-day-out, stopping only to eat with them in the great hall and sleep by myself in the squalid prison cell they call a “guest bedroom.” Mother is still angry. She doesn’t say goodnight to me or speak to me during dinner.

And worst of all, the gold lacquer has begun to flake off my armor! The indignities never end.

_Day 64_

Dear Diary:

Yep, my armor’s definitely getting worked over. Big patches of gold are missing, now. I’ve even had to give up my cloak to mother in hopes that she’ll patch it.

Two months of bending down to scrub, and my back is killing me. I thought I was making good time, until it transpired that I’d merely de-beautified a single wing of the keep. I’ve got an excruciatingly long way to go.

The rats are still here, hiding in the walls. The rats never left me. I’ve taken to naming a few of them and feeding them crumbs under the dinner table.

I want to go home.

_Day 100_

Dear Diary:

Ringo the rat has learned to roll over, and it’s the cutest thing. Mother actually laughed - laughed! At something I did for her! I don’t even care that the oaf was right next to her. I finally saw her smile again.

My progress has been slow but steady. Every day I finish cleaning another few hundred square feet of stone. This stuff takes a lot longer to get rid of than it took to put on, that’s for certain.

It’s been five score days since my humiliation at the hands of Shovel Knight. He still roams the land, beloved by all. I still hate him. Occasionally, he and his lady friend will pop over to the keep for tea and crumpets with King Pridemoor, and I must bite my tongue and continue to labor with their shadows on my head.

Reading back on these entries makes me so angry. I had it all! And in a few short days, the Blue Boor took everything from me. There is no justice.

One day I will be free and Shovel Knight will pay for what he has done to me.

_Day 128_

Dear Diary:

I dreamt last night of the homestead. I miss my old house. It was hardly a worthy domicile for a king, but it was warm at night and my mother was always so happy to speak with me about my ambition. Her cooking was wonderful - especially compared to the garbage the castle servants whip up every day.

The guest bedroom is cold unless one of the rats crawls up and snuggles under the covers. Then it’s tolerable. I swear, I’m going crazy scrubbing the endless expanse of this castle. I see the Enchantress and the Order in the shiny gold finish, laughing at me right before I wipe their faces away with a sponge.

I looked at myself in the mirror and I couldn’t help but notice I look absolutely terrible. Four months of janitor work and I have no gold left on me, no crown, and no cape. I swear the armor is starting to rust in places, but the light isn’t good enough to tell just yet.

I fear I have become Janitor Knight without realizing it. This isn’t what I wanted at all.

_Day 153_

Dear Diary:

My armor is definitely rusting. The oaf offered to restore it and polish it, but he refuses to furnish it with gold as someone of my station requires. Thus, I refuse. I’ll get someone in town to do it as soon as I finish _ruining_ this castle for him.

Mother is still distant, five months on. She and I speak in passing, but it’s like talking to a stranger. I feel like I don’t truly know her anymore. The guards are all curt and dismissive, and the servants are too intimidated by my presence to even speak to me.

The only people I have left to talk to are the rats.

My back hurts.

_Day 197_

Dear Diary:

No changes since last time. Another month goes by and the only difference is that the castle - _my_ castle - is a little bit uglier to satisfy the oaf’s edict.

At least I’m more than halfway done. And Ringo knows how to fetch now. He’s such a good boy.

_Day 238_

Dear Diary:

I tried to stand up straight today and found that I couldn’t. My armor has rusted stiff in so many places that I’m practically a hunchback. I had to sneak some oil from the machinist just to limber up enough to stretch, and when I did my back popped so loud I could swear a cannonade was going off.

I fear King Pridemoor is attempting to cripple me in an effort to end the threat I pose to his throne, but I’m two steps ahead, as always. My pre-dawn workout routine has kept me in some modicum of shape.

Have I mentioned I loathe it here? I truly do. When I am king again, perhaps I will have Pridemoor Keep demolished and a new castle erected in its place. I’ve been thinking of a Motte-and-Bailey arrangement, but the Norman Keep is tempting. I’ll wait to decide until the next issue of _Bastions Biannual_ comes out.

_Day 264_

Dear Diary:

I’m down to cracks and crevices, now. For my punishment to be complete, King Pridemoor has decreed that none of my beautiful gold paint can remain anywhere in the keep.

I’ve spent the last week scouring the secret passages. Most of these weren’t even painted the first time by my incompetent lackeys! No wonder Shovel Knight defeated me so easily.

_Day 271_

Dear Diary:

Plague Knight visited today. He and his own lady friend seem to be getting on well.

As it turns out, he plotted to betray the Enchantress as well, long before the Blue Buffoon showed up. I hardly find that surprising - the little twerp was always up to no good.

He barely recognized me when I tried to speak to him - he thought I was the janitor, which I guess I am at this point. When I made my identity known to him, he began to cackle like a mad demon, finding something incredibly funny about my plight. Several names he had for me -- Rust Knight, Beggar Knight, Scum Knight, Rat Knight. Finally his lady friend got him to lay off and they went on their way to speak with the oaf about... whatever.

Miss Plague Knight’s friend gave me a bottle of something she said would stop and hopefully reverse the rusting. Can’t say I trust anything that comes from the Explodatorium, but what have I got to lose?

I wish I had a friend like her. This was the first time I’ve talked to someone in days.

_Day 300_

Dear Diary:

Success at last. I have dismantled my own handiwork to King Pridemoor’s satisfaction and am at long last allowed to leave the castle walls. My mother has made it clear that she will not be leaving the oaf’s side, no matter how much I wheedle and complain, but I must take whatever small victories I can.

Tonight I am sleeping in my own house, in my own bed. Cobwebs line the walls and dust coats the floor, but I have had just about enough cleaning to last a lifetime.

The rats didn’t follow me back, mostly because I think they like the castle leftovers better than they like me - and who can blame them, honestly? So I’m here alone, except for Ringo. Ringo’s a good boy.

King Pridemoor has told me of a grand announcement he will be making on my birthday, which is less than a week from now. I suppose this will be my reward, or my end of sentence, or something in return for my almost literal back-breaking labor at his behest. Maybe he’ll tell the villagers to stop throwing fruit when they realize who I am. That’d be nice.

_Day 304_

They can’t do this to me

This isn’t fair

How dare they

HOW DARE THEY

_Day 305_

Dear Diary:

I suppose I should explain myself.

On the day of the announcement, I had been lounging about my old house for a few days. My muscles had really started to cramp up without the regular drudge work they had been subjected to for the past almost-a-year. So I was already in a poor mood when the summons arrived.

A great crowd was gathered in the hall of Pridemoor Keep to hear what the oaf had to say. Hardly anyone threw anything at me as I was escorted to the front, and most of them even missed. Things were already looking up.

King Pridemoor began by declaring that “the Enchantress’s Taint” had been “cleansed” from the castle, prompting a round of applause from his subjects. I felt put out. It wasn’t a taint. The gold looked good! It wasn’t even the Enchantress’s idea!

He then pointed me out, declaring that by “cleansing” this place, I had “completed my community service” and had paid for my crimes. I hung my head to the tune of some sparse clapping and a cough or two. I’ll admit, I wasn’t much to look at. My armor was still a tad rusty (though it was getting better - thanks, Mona) and I still had no crown or cloak. Heck, I had even lost my scepter.

I asked if I could have my crown back. He said no. I ask for my cloak. He said it had gotten so old and ragged, he’d had it thrown away. The cloak my mother had stitched for me, thrown in the trash. She didn’t even seem bothered by that fact.

He then called my mother up to the throne beside him and made his final announcement. He knelt and produced a small box. Terror gripped my heart. I flung the closest thing to hand I had - the sponge I had spent the last year cleaning this ignoramus’s castle with. It knocked the box out of his hand and left on the floor a small ring bearing a massive diamond.

I let the imbecile have it then. I demanded my things back. I demanded my mother back. I demanded my throne, my rightful castle, my gold, my crown, my chandeliers. He said no to all of it.

I turned and demanded the crowd get out and quit gawking at my family affairs. Instead, two figures pushed their way to the front - Shovel Knight and his lady friend. 

I took stock of where I was. Unarmed. My armor rusted, pitted, and decorated with dust and cobwebs. No crown. No dignity. I was outnumbered two, possibly three to one (for King Pridemoor had undoubtedly rebuilt his combat armor by now), and I was in the worst shape of my life. I couldn’t even beat Shovel Knight alone the _first_ time we met. Now?

Wordlessly, I left the room. No one stopped me. No one said anything.

My rats were at the far end, watching. I beckoned them to me, for I’d still need subjects. I was certainly never coming back here. One by one, they retreated into the hole they had emerged from, abandoning me for the high life as castle vermin. Only Ringo stayed. He hopped onto my shoulder and stayed. He’s a good boy.

Together we left Pridemoor Keep and rooted through the trash piles. We found an old, long-discarded piece of cloth that might have been my cloak once upon a time. I wrapped it around my shoulders and quickly realized I’d have to learn how to do my own laundry.

I write this entry from the old homestead, alone except for Ringo, my only friend in the world.

My joints ache. I look like a walking pile of garbage. I’m sulking in an old, dusty house with no crown and naught for company but my most loyal pet rat. I guess I should come up with a new title.

~~\-- _King Knight_ ~~


	2. A Grand Tour

It’s only after I was run out of the village a third time that I realized I might not be able to distance myself from this whole kerfuffle quite so easily. Once upon a time I was Joustus Champion, praised by all for the rounds of juice I’d buy with my vast wealth. Then I had the Joustus House burnt to the ground, so I guess I burnt my own bridge there.

On my way out, I had to sneak some supplies from Pridemoor Keep. In a fit of self-indulgent moping, I had already consumed the vast stores of potato crisps and Hallow’s Eve sweets left over from my last visit to the homestead. I was running low on comestibles and had to raid the oaf’s larder for more.

I managed to pilfer some decent rations, a sack of rat feed for Ringo, and my old broom and bucket from my days as a custodian. I noted with some incense that using the cleaning implements as a makeshift bindle made me look like even more of a transient than I already had, but I suppose we play the cards we’re dealt.

Card reference. Classic King Knight.

With utmost stealth, I made my way out of the castle with nary a soul spotting me. If King Pridemoor knew I was in his kitchens plundering his stores, he’d have me thrown in an actual cell this time. But his guards were complacent, it seems. I retrieved my copies of  _ Bastions Biannual _ and  _ Monarchy for Dummies _ and I was out. Like a cough in the wind, I barely disturbed the dust I trod on. Not a soul could perceive my expert craft in subterfuge. I was-

* * *

“Your highness. King Knight has been spotted on the castle grounds.”

Pridemoor’s eyes drifted up from the treaty he had been trying and failing to read for the past hour. He smiled. Perhaps the boy could be reasoned with after all. “Finally decided to return home, has he?” 

“No, your highness.” Pridemoor’s smile vanished as the guard strode forward. “We’ve tracked him through the east wing. When I last checked, he seemed to mostly be talking to himself and rooting through the kitchen.”

“Is he breaking anything? Doing anything suspicious?”

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “Well, sir, he...”

“Spit it out.”

“He stole a stack of cheddar singles and a ham shank.”

Pridemoor glanced up again, incredulously. “Is that it?”

“That, and some cleaning supplies out of the janitor’s closet.”

Pridemoor waved the soldier off, returning to his reading. “He’s harmless. Go back to your post, son. Tell me if he gets himself into trouble.”

“Yes, sir.”

The throne room was empty again. Pridemoor read for a few minutes more before sighing, rolling up the parchment for another day, and retiring to the griffoth yard.

* * *

The Armor Outpost was no more welcoming than my first destination. Far from offering me room and board, they had the gall to stuff me in a catapult and fling me past Pridemoor Keep and back into the village, where I was again rather poorly received.

So it was back on the road for a time, dodging wary eyes and would-be highwaymen looking to accost me. Surely, news of my confrontation with the king had spread far and wide, and I was a wanted man. It was around the time of my passing Pridemoor Keep that I noticed my rations were low once more. Back into the castle I crept. Back into the larder, only this time I made away with twice the plunder as before.

Not a soul spotted me, of course. I’m quite good at this stealth thing. Perhaps I should moonlight as Ninja Knight until I get my crown back. But I digress.

Another day’s trek across the valley. I wouldn’t dare set foot in the Explodatorium, Mona’s generosity notwithstanding. I would have tried to strike up a conversation with Specter Knight, but the swirling thunderstorm over the Lich Yard told me all I needed to know about that guy’s mental state. The Iron Whale and Lost City were both sealed off to me, through no lack of trying on my end. I had no idea where to even begin looking for Propeller Knight’s flying machine.

One by one, it became clear that my old comrades in the Order were either not an option or simply not willing to help me. So I ventured to the last place I could think to look -- the ruins of the Tower of Fate.

The place was an utter wreck, of course. Victim of some foul magic or another. I couldn’t speak as to how the place was destroyed, merely that it began falling apart right as Polar Knight was crawling up my face as I held the entire Order of No Quarter by my ankle.

The rubble was jet black and still smoking in places. Some magic lingered here, assuredly, as did the wispy remains of the Enchantress’s liquideous minions -- starved of their mistress’s presence, they all seemed to be melting into things resembling Blorbs more than elite warriors.

Off in the distance, slightly askew, offset from the rest of the debris by a rough circle of clear ground, stood an imposing edifice of dark crystal. Spikes and hard edges jutted up from every surface, the sun seeming to dim in the thing’s presence. I recognized the thing at once -- the Enchantress’s throne.

It would do.

I strode up the shattered stairway to the throne proper. I turned, surveying the dingy, dismal land before me. I couldn’t find a place to stay, I still looked like utter rubbish, and I was almost out of cheese singles. The scenery matched my circumstances perfectly.

Still, I thought, as I leaned back and made myself comfortable, my rear was once more resting on a throne, where it belonged. So it wasn’t all bad.

* * *

“Pathetic.”

I jerked awake. Apparently the hard crystalline throne had been so comfortable (or my journeys beforehand so arduous) that I had drifted right to sleep. Ringo was snoring softly in my lap.

“Look at you. ‘King Knight.’ King of what? A single rat and a pail of junk food. Sitting with no crown on a throne that isn’t yours.”

“Who’s there!” I cried. “Show yourself!”

Up from the wreckage around me floated a storm of brilliant shards. One pinged off the back of my helmet. They formed themselves into a reflective surface, criss-crossed with gaps and cracks. It was the Enchantress’s magic mirror. My reflection in it was resplendent - my gold sheen restored, my cloak pristine, and my crown sitting firmly atop my head. It was a wondrous sight to behold.

Then my reflection started trash-talking me and the sight became subtly less wondrous.

“So, this is what you are reduced to? A beggar, squatting in an abandoned ruin.”

“Shut up!” I waved my broom at him. “I beg from no one. I am still King Knight, even if my realm has been usurped from me!”

“That’s not what your  _ diary _ says.”

I wilted a bit at that. I shook my head and steeled myself. Surely, this was some trick of leftover magic -- a hex left by the Enchantress to demoralize anyone who intruded on her demesne.

“I have been embarrassed,” I admitted, “but not defeated. I shall regroup. I shall reclaim my lost honor and regain the lifestyle I am owed! I mean, look.” I patted my seat’s armrests. “I already have a new throne. That’s one step done.”

“Oh, it’s  _ your _ throne, now, is it?” My reflection sneered down at me. “If it belongs to you, then summon its power. If you have truly claimed the Tower of Fate from your late benefactor, the bricks shall lay themselves atop one another at your highness’s command.” The crystal began to glow beneath my fingers. “Speak, then, King Knight! Speak and prove your royal might!”

I couldn’t exactly turn down a challenge like that. I gripped the throne tightly and tried to imagine what it felt like to channel dark magic. If anyone could do something like this, it was me.

I summoned all the baritone I could muster, and began to call out.

“ **_I call upon the,_ ** uh... a- **_ancient dark forces in this place. For a year, you have slumbered, now..._ ** now, uhh. Hmm. Oh!  **_Now I beckon thee to arise from the ashes of ignoble defeat!_ ** ” I held my hands up to the sky. I could  _ feel _ something working. “ **_I claim this throne in the name of King Knight! For me, you shall rebuild! For me, you shall erect a mighty edifice, and I shall rule forever and a day! This I command! Thus you shall obey me!_ ** ”

Not bad for something straight off the cuff. And you know what? I really did feel something. I swear I did. I felt the magic working for a moment, and then it stopped. I looked to find no freshly-built tower around me, no army of liquid samurai awaiting my orders, no exhumed artifacts to pilfer and use to enact my revenge.

It hadn’t worked.

“Just as I expected,” sneered my reflection. “Pridemoor has broken you. A year of torment has robbed you of your royal vigor. You are no king. You are no knight. You are a harmless fool, and as long as you remain in this sorry state, this place’s magics will never obey you.”

The mirror’s words hit me like a shovel to the bonce. I slumped back in the throne, now inert once more.

“So what am I supposed to do?” I wondered. “I don’t even know why I came here, if it wasn’t for something like this. The last throne in the valley, and it won’t accept me. What now?”

“You could always lie down and rot,” the mirror offered. I glared up at it. “Just an idea.”

“No!” I pounded my fist on the throne’s arm and stood. I jabbed a finger at the malevolent image, feeling a fire flicker to life in my chest. “I will not give up! I am too great to allow myself such an ignoble end. King Knight will not die here, a starving  _ nobody _ on the outskirts of nowhere! I refuse!”

“But where will you go?” the mirror asked, mockingly. “Pridemoor will put you in chains. The Tower will not return. There is no throne in the valley that will accept you.”

Inspiration struck then. The solution hit me like... well, like a shovel to the bonce.

“Then I shall leave the valley.”

My reflection recoiled. “What?”

“There are lands beyond this one. Lands where the name of King Knight is not reviled. Lands where I may start anew!” I felt the fire in my heart burn bright as I foresaw my path, as sure as if it was laid out in front of me in dotted lines. I began walking.

“No!” the mirror cried, bits and jits falling from its floating lattice as it tried to keep up with me. “Stay here and despair. It would be so much  _ easier... _ ”

“I have despaired for a year,” I said, watching the sniveling simulacrum fall apart before me. “I tire of despairing. King Knight is a man of  _ action, _ and so I shall  _ act! _ ”

And I knew exactly what my first act would be.

* * *

“Sir, King Knight has been-”

“Spotted raiding the kitchen and talking to himself, yes,  _ I know. _ ”

The guard noted with some discomfort that he had interrupted tea and crumpets, as King Pridemoor and the Queen-To-Be looked up from the small table at which they sat opposite the Heroes of the Realm - Shield Knight and Shovel Knight.

“Honestly, son, if all he does is steal some cheese every few days, that’s hardly a concern. He’ll have to come around eventually.”

“He steals  _ cheese? _ ” Shield Knight asked, incredulously, just before daintily sipping from a very expensive-looking porcelain cup.

“It’s this whole thing. I’m too tired to explain it.” King Pridemoor made a dismissive gesture before grabbing another crumpet and biting it in half.

“I’ve actually taken to leaving my pies down there where he’ll find them,” added the Queen-to-Be. “I know he likes to think he’s sneaking around, but I didn’t want him to think I’d forgotten about him.”

“An exquisite luxury you offer him, ma’am,” noted the diminutive blue knight opposite her. “I’ve tasted your hearty meat pies, and I must say they’re too good for the gilded gadfly stalking your-  _ oof. _ ”

Shield Knight elbowed him and shook her head.

“Err, what I mean to say is... quite the love you still have for your son, even after everything that has happened.”

Shield Knight nodded through another sip of tea.

“I guess I’m trying to make up for lost time. I feel I treated him unfairly after...  _ all that business  _ was done with. I just wish he’d come home.”

“Respectfully, sirs and madam,” spoke the guard, who most present had forgotten existed by this point, “that’s actually what I meant to speak to you about. It seems King Knight is leaving.”

“Leaving?” The Queen-to-Be tilted her head. “Leaving where?”

“Leaving here. He plans to head west, across the plains. From there, we’ve no idea of his destination.”

“He’s...  _ running away?!  _ Oh... oh, no...” The woman swooned, falling backwards into King Pridemoor’s arms. He eased her down into her chair, where she buried her face in her hands. “No, no, no, my son’s running away from home...! What will become of him?”

Pridemoor took the hands of his betrothed in his own. “Now, now, dear, he’s a strong lad. I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

“It’s true,” Shovel Knight offered. “I trounced his royal tuchus twice in one week and he seemed no worse for wear.  _ Oof. _ ” Shield Knight elbowed him again.

“I know, I know,” said the Queen-to-Be, still holding her head. “But he’s never left the valley before. Who knows what could be out there? Monsters? Bandits? Dragons? Things we don’t even have names for! He’s just running straight off the edge of the map!” She began to tear up. “Wh-what if he gets hurt? Or worse...!”

King Pridemoor took his beloved in his arms, trying to comfort her as she sobbed. He looked to the two knights across from him, Shield Knight on the verge of tears in sympathy, Shovel Knight sitting with arms crossed, clearly uncomfortable with the whole display.

The king thought for a moment as his fiance leaned into his embrace. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“My friends,” he began, “you have already saved my entire kingdom from ruin. I owe you a debt more than I could ever pay.

But I must ask you for another favor.”  



	3. Smilodon Fatalis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah this chapter took a while. Just had a short hospital stay, NBD. Thanks for all your comments and please enjoy.

_“Hyper Camelot! Ahhh-ahh, ahhh-ahh! Fighting with all they’ve got! Ahh-ahh, ahhh-aaaah! Ride into danger, evil beware, our powerful horses carry us there!”_

The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and spirits were high as I strode through the plains west of the old homestead. Ringo and I were singing a jaunty tune as we made our way up and out of the valley. All right, _I_ was singing a jaunty tune and Ringo was there for moral support, but still. We were united in purpose.

Rations held through the first couple of days, but were running dry by the end of our first week. It was on a dusky evening that I happened to lean against a great moss-covered rock and sent it plummeting off a cliff, to land on the head of a slumbering dozedrake. 

Seizing this opportunity, I leapt down and wrestled the beast with naught but my broomstick and my bare hands, finally snapping its neck just as it would have overpowered me. Then I put the rock back on its face for good measure.

After I made camp by the beast’s carcass, I spent a solid hour gorging myself on medium-well drake. It was here that I met my first two traveling companions, who by chance were walking the same road as me.

They came upon me at once, offering a hail to me that I heartily returned. I initially mistook the shorter of the two for the blasted blue blowhard, before realizing that his armor was much bulkier and a dark grey rather than blue. Also, Shovel Knight’s horns weren’t that big. I offered him a slice of dragon and he graciously accepted, driving his wide-bladed polearm into the dirt beside me.

His companion was dressed in a combination of dingy plate and barbaric leathers. Her hair was done up in a stark red mohawk, a line of scarlet warpaint across her eyes. On one arm was a great metal ring with sharpened edges, and on the other was a similar, smaller implement, bifurcated to split into two melee weapons.

They introduced themselves as Glaive Knight and Chakram Knight, and they hailed from a far-off land. Around the campfire, we struck up a conversation.

* * *

“King Knight?” asked the warrioress. “ _The_ King Knight of the valley?”

“I see my reputation precedes me,” I noted, before tearing off another strip of drake flesh. “The very same, though I have fallen on hard times of late.”

“I was about to say, Milord,” muttered Glaive Knight. “Your fabled opulence has faded from the stories we hear of the King of Cards and Joustus Champion.”

I waved a hand dismissively. “Joustus was a fad. And not even a good one. I, too, thought it was a path to royalty, but it was merely a stepping stone to greater things.”

“I’m surprised at your apathy, Milord,” said Glaive Knight. “Tales abound of you rolling through the Joustus Houses and clobbering every man, woman, and child in the game. So imagine my shock when I finally meet the Champion and see him toss the game over his shoulder like a pile of spilled salt.”

“Wasn’t even a legitimate game,” I said, as I chucked a clean bone into the flames and fished a fresh slice off the spit. “Did you know the entire thing was made up by the Enchantress to distract everyone? Part of her _evil ploy_ to take over the valley and enslave its inhabitants.”

The two of them shared a look. Chakram Knight raised her eyebrow at me. “The evil Enchantress.”

“Yup.”

“The heinous, villainous Enchantress.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...Who you used to work for.”

I immediately began choking on a loose scrap of dragon meat. A hearty slap from Glaive Knight dislodged it and sent it into the fire, along with (I suspect) part of my soul. The man has an arm on him.

“Ah, well, you see- _ack!_ -i-it was a matter of circumstantial- _kaff!_ -it was certainly not- _excuse me_ -Oh, let’s just stop beating around the bush. I got emotional and picked the wrong side. Obviously. ”

Glaive Knight harrumphed. “Quite big of you to admit that, Milord.”

“I mean, there’s no other way of looking at it. The _right_ choice would see me still in Pridemoor Keep, seated on the throne and eating something I _didn’t_ have to kill by myself.”

The two shared a look again.

“So you _don’t_ regret betraying King Pridemoor?” Chakram Knight asked.

“Not in the slightest. He treats me like a child, has the utter nerve to schmooze my mom right in front of me, and then just _assumes_ I’ll fight his battles for him. Then, after the Enchantress met her demise, he makes me clean his floors for a year, all the while _still_ schmoozing my mother right in front of me.”

“Why didn’t you just... let him?” asked Glaive Knight, working over a loin like a piece of corn on the cob.

“Excuse me?”

“Let him date your mother. That would make you a prince, would it not?”

I sighed. “That’s not the important part.”

“ _The crown_ isn’t the important part for _King-_ ”

“For King Knight, I know, I know.” I rested a hand against my head. “It’s just... he’s an _oaf._ A _buffoon._ I don’t want to inherit the crown from him. And my mom deserves better than him.”

“Better than royalty,” Chakram Knight said. “Better than the most influential man in the valley.”

“Better than _King Pridemoor_ ,” I corrected. “If, after weeks of flying with me, he was still unable to process how little I cared for his public displays of affection, he couldn’t be that smart.”

“Would that have something to do with why you’re out here now?”

“Of course!” I threw my hands in the air. “I certainly can’t stay in the valley. The populace hates me! I can’t spend the rest of my life as a pariah or a scullery maid, so I have to go somewhere else.”

“That somewhere else being some unknown destination west of the valley,” Glaive Knight ventured.

“Yep.”

“And there’s no chance you’re ever coming back.”

“Not until I’ve got a kingship again. Demanding respect where you will get none is a fool’s errand.”

“And there’s no dissuading you?”

“Nope.”

The two looked at each other once again. A prolonged silence ensued, which I occupied by continuing to stuff my gob with roast dragon.

“What if... we joined you?”

Glaive Knight gave a start. “Shi- err, Chakram Knight...!”

“Well, think about it.” She turned to her friend. “Clearly our new acquaintance is setting out on a grand adventure. I mean, he’s heading off the edge of the map. Neither of us have explored the western frontier, have we?”

“For good reason. Nothing but bandits, dragons, and who knows what.”

“I already killed one dragon,” I interjected, waving about a crispy strip of drake bacon as proof before biting it in half. “What’s two or three more?”

“You had a rock this time,” he noted, pointing out the boulder I had used to momentarily stun the frightful beast. “What happens next time you don’t have one?”

“He’ll have us! I mean, imagine. A disgraced king seeking redemption, on a quest to reclaim his lost honor. It sounds like the sort of thing you and I used to do all the time!”

“You may be giving our friend too much credit,” he grumbled.

“Indeed,” I agreed. “‘Redemption’ implies I have done anything wrong.”

The two stared at me as I snapped another strip of drakon in half. Blazes, but this stuff was tasty.

“Well,” ventured Chakram Knight, “he’ll certainly need friends on this journey. Confidants. Advisors. People to _keep him on the right path._ ”

“I... see what you mean. So! King Knight!”

“Wha- huh?” I hadn’t been paying attention, busy as I was getting Ringo to do tricks for bacon bits.

“We are offering to join you on your quest for kingly greatness, if you’ll have us.” He stood and offered me a hand.

I stood and shook it in turn. “Of course! A king needs companions on his journey. Stick with me and fortune and glory will surely await us all!”

* * *

It was the next day. The sun was high in the sky, and the grass under our feet had begun to turn yellow. There was no fortune or glory in sight.

“Don’t suppose either of you are familiar with this place?” I asked, surmounting a rather large boulder and scanning the horizon. Nothing but golden grassland and weird upside-down-looking trees as far as the eye could see. If this was the new world, the new world sucked and I already hated it.

“Never been, Milord,” grumbled Glaive Knight, grunting as he schlepped the large sack of salted dragon bits we’d prepared for rations. “I recall old maps calling it the ‘Fatalis Fields,’ which if you ask me is needlessly ominous.”

“Sounds like the sort of place Spectre Knight would prefer,” I mused, “though this seems far too sunny for him.”

“You think he gets enough Vitamin D?” wondered Chakram Knight.

“What?” I asked.

“ _What?_ ” Glaive Knight asked.

Chakram Knight shook her head. “Forget I said anything.”

On we trekked. The Fatalis Fields were dreadfully flat, with little to surmount or climb or navigate. It’s no wonder so few people journeyed west if this flat blonde expanse was all that awaited. I needed an airship, I mused, so I could skip all this darned walking.

It was around high noon that day that things began to go wrong.

We passed a crude wooden sign painted with a red fanged grin that designated the region as “Smiler Territory.” I assumed that we would be attacked soon by monster clowns, which of course put me on edge, as clowns are dreadful and I hate them utterly. But no clowns appeared.

Instead, what started as some rustling in the surrounding tall grass turned into a cat the size of a horse, with teeth like Goldarmor swords. This, I assumed, was a Smiler.

It charged at the three of us, bouncing off a well-timed deflect from one of Chakram Knight’s blades, soaring into the brush opposite. My two companions fell into a back-to-back defensive stance, wary of the next attack. A growl resounded from seemingly all directions - there were more than one of these things.

“They’re after the dragon meat,” said Chakram Knight. “The smell is attracting them. If we leave it, they might forget about us and let us get away.”

I harrumphed and strode away from them, scanning the camouflaging amber brush for our assailants. “I’m not leaving our food after all the work I put into getting it. If these fatuous future fur-coats want my stuff, they can come get it!”

As if to answer my challenge, another sword-toothed tiger leapt from the bushes to my right. I turned and side-stepped, grabbing the beast’s neck underneath one arm. With a mighty yell and a heave, I bent backwards and threw the beast rump-over-teakettle over my head. It let out a comedically high-pitched yelp as I executed a masterful fisherman suplex upon it, leaving it winded and out of the fight.

I’m not lying this time, I actually did that.

“He’s not going to leave the bag,” Chakram Knight said.

“I’d prefer he be the one to carry it, then,” grumbled Glaive Knight.

“Defend your plunder and yourselves!” I barked. “Are you knights or knaves?”

Another Smiler leapt at me from the underbrush. This one I met head on, driving my shoulder straight into its schnoz with a satisfying crunch. Its two slicing fangs fractured and flew off in opposite directions as I hit it, and once its tuchus made contact with the ground it whimpered and scampered away, driven off by my display of power. I was _not_ letting them have my dragon jerky. That stuff was good.

Chakram Knight sent her larger blade in a wide orbit, shaving the foliage in a wide radius to mere knee height and revealing a good half-dozen more of the beasts lying in wait. As the disc completed its lazy return trajectory, she flung the smaller of her discs out, ricocheting between no less than three oversize feline skulls and knocking them all out.

At the same time, her partner vaulted into the air, his stature belying some truly stunning agility as he utilized a masterful (and oddly familiar) downward thrusting technique that dispatched the remainder one by one, launching him back into the sky each time.

A shadow passed over me. I looked up to see the hindquarters of a truly massive Smiler land in front of me and bound again, rocketing itself toward Chakram Knight, who lay defenseless as she awaited the return of her throwing blades.

Glaive Knight landed upon one of the spinning blades, using it as a platform to vault off, then launched himself laterally from the second as it passed by him. He held his glaive out behind him, seeming to shimmer in the midday sun as he rocketed at the alpha Smiler at high speed.

“Prepare to taste justice, monster!” he cried. “ **_Shovel Justice!_ **”

With a sound like the gods' own frying pan, he slammed the flat of his blade against the alpha’s skull, diverting it at the last split-second before its claws would have grazed Chakram Knight’s mohawk. The beast was flung horizontally, wailing as it dug a furrow a hundred yards long through the savannah grass and smacked into a promontory rock, which promptly cracked in half and fell apart.

He landed by his partner before falling to a knee in exhaustion. She embraced him. True chivalry at work - it almost made me tear up. Rather than do that, however, I began to applaud and walk towards them.

“An amazing display, you two,” I said. “Had I still a cup to raise, I’d toast your abilities to no end. However, that last act _did_ finally clear something up for me.”

“Uh-oh.”

“You see, it was bothering me,” I continued, now upon the two. “Your manner of speech, your fighting style, it all seemed so familiar. Almost as if I had seen or fought alongside you two before.”

“Uhh...”

“And now I’ve finally figured it out!” I pointed an accusing finger at them. “You two are _Shovel Knight and Shield Knight...!_ ”

They held their hands up. “No, listen!”

“We can explain, we were just-!”

“ _...’s fan club!_ ”

They stopped protesting. “What?” asked Chakram Knight.

“It’s so obvious! They way you carry yourselves, your choice of weapon, it’s clear you idolize the two to no end. And it’s no wonder you resent me so, Glaive Knight, I understand. Your lady friend insists on journeying with your hero’s most dire, most nefarious nemesis.”

Glaive Knight let out a nervous chuckle. “Uh, rightly so, Milord. You certainly figured that one out.”

“But I am a gracious king!” I continued. “Your loyalty in combat has proven today that, no matter your taste in role model, you are a reliable sort to keep around. Thus,” I took the bag of dragon beef in one hand and lifted it over my head, prompted a choking noise from Glaive Knight, “I shall allow you to continue in my presence for however long you wish.”

“You are... _certainly a perceptive and wise king,_ ” said Chakram Knight, grinning uncomfortably. Understandable. My brilliant deductive mind had uncovered their secret so easily. It threw people off.

“Just so,” I said, hauling our prize westward into the thick grass once again. “Now, onward! We set off for adventure once more, and no oversized fluffballs shall bar our way - _oof._ ”

I had walked directly into the point of a spear. A raggedy-looking fellow clad in tiger-striped leathers was holding it, seated upon a Smiler the likes of which I had just finished defeating.

“You have upset the pack,” intoned the man. Several dozen more like him emerged from the foliage, each pointing a spear at I or one of my companions. “The pack desires recompense for your invasion and injury upon us.”

“N-now look here,” I said, straining now a bit under the weight of the sack of dragon bacon. “I only acted in self defense...!”

“Your law does not apply here, outsider,” growled the Smiler-rider, prodding me with the spear again. “You and your bounty shall be taken to our leader, and he shall decide your fate.”

“A-and whom m-might that leader be?” I asked, attempted to maintain my royal demeanor.

“You shall be judged by Fang Knight,” said the rider. “And your meat shall be judged by the Smilodon King.”


End file.
